


Kylux Ficlet Collection

by llyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cannibalism, Daddy Kink, Dark, Drabble Collection, Drugs, Ficlet Collection, Fisting, Fluff, Humor, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Nipple Piercings, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylux, Benarmie, & Techienician ficlets from tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stupid Rule

Hux wakes when a hand lands heavily on his head, scrubbing his hair backwards. A long, clumsy finger traces his eyebrow, his cheekbone, the seam of his lips. Hux catches the tip between his teeth.

“Ow!”

He’s slapped, but gently. Opens his eyes, blinking in the low blue light to watch the slow rise and fall of Ren’s chest, one biteable pink nipple within striking distance, but Hux waits.

His head is tilted forcefully up, two fingers under his chin, until he’s looking into Ren’s dark eyes. Ren seems to want something, tongue sticking in his cheek.

“What?” Hux asks.

“Get me hard,” Ren says, “With your mouth. We’ll go again.”

Hux takes his time looking down the length of Ren’s body, then back, “No,” he says, “do it yourself.”

“Do it myself?” Ren’s eyebrow quirks.

“I don’t like soft cocks.”

Ren absorbs this information with obvious difficulty, a little frown on his lips, finger absently tracing the shell of Hux’s ear. Finally, he grins, “Aren’t you picky?”

“I’m a conno–” Hux interrupts himself with a yawn, hiding his face against Ren’s chest, “a connoisseur,” he says, once he recovers.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Ren says, after a yawn of his own.

“A connoisseur’s a person who–”

“No,” Ren says, stern, not to be misunderstood, “I’ve never heard of your stupid rule.”

“Oh,” Hux says, and shrugs a shoulder in lieu of apologizing, “Sometimes I forget you weren’t raised in a cave by wampas.”

“Sometimes I forget I promised Supreme Leader I wouldn’t kill you.”

“So you asked him,” Hux says, “if you could.”

“A few times.”

Hux hums.

“You’re very frustrating.”

Hux sticks out his tongue to lick Ren’s nipple, grinning when Ren gasps and jerks. He doesn’t let up, and Ren’s hands, though holding onto his ears, don’t pull him away.

“F-fuck,” Ren says, back arching to bring himself closer to Hux’s lips.

Hux closes his eyes, rolls Ren’s nipple between his teeth, and now Ren’s hands do push him off. He comes away laughing.

Ren growls low, twisting to pin Hux beneath him. He grinds his hips down and Hux breathes, “Oh,” into Ren’s mouth.

“Yes,” Ren says, “without your help.”

“I helped,” Hux says, running his hands down Ren’s chest, down his stomach, further, only to have them batted away.

“You’ll wish you helped more,” Ren says, lifting Hux’s bare leg over his shoulder and pausing to take a sloppy bite of his pale thigh. Hux curses and smacks the top of his head, but Ren only leans back, brushing his hair from his face to smirk down at Hux, “cause we’re out of lube.”


	2. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this gorgeous art](https://nightsofllyn.tumblr.com/post/145056255983/old-disorder-have-i-told-you-that-i-like-to-draw) by [first-disorder](http://first-disorder.tumblr.com/) from which I never expect to recover.

Hux’s bright eyes burn with shame and hate and something more than hate–hate tipping toward _something_ that raises the hair on Kylo’s neck.

His breaths come ragged, past swollen, bloody lips. His cheek is scratched. He wants to keep glaring at Kylo but can’t, eyes drifting shut–such strange, long lashes–then snapping open.

Hux had kicked and spit and bit. He’d fought dirty. He’d lost. Cornered, now, he shifts his weight against the wall, big coat falling from his slight shoulder like a broken wing. Kylo can’t remember how the fight started.

“Surrender?” he asks.

Hux heaves a breath, straightens up, tries to yank the coat onto his shoulder. It slides down further. He shakes his head, hair a mess. He swallows, “No.”

Kylo shouldn’t be proud of him. His heart shouldn’t swell. Another thing he can’t remember–growing fond of this sneering stranger. His easy way with cruelty. His vicious angles.

Kylo steps closer. Hux shuts his eyes, ready to be beaten further. He jumps when Ren touches his jaw. Keeps his eyes squeezed shut and ducks his head, as Kylo’s fingers trace over the cut on his cheek. Shame rolls off of Hux and, also, something more than hate.

“What should I do?” Kylo asks, “if you won’t surrender?”

Hux’s eyes burn, “Just kill me,” he says, but doesn’t mean it. Like how their fight was never a fight at all, but more an excuse for touching. So Kylo leans in to taste his torn lips, then licks the salt from his jaw, from his neck, from the tender place where his collarbones meet, until Hux breaths, “Ren,” and pulls him closer.


	3. Ben & Hux

“Do you know why I interrogate our prisoners?”

“Because you’re a sadist?” Hux asks, shifting his tender wrists in the binders.

Ben–he’d introduced himself, ludicrously ( _I’m Ben Solo, I’m here to interrogate you_ )–laughs, dipping his head. A lock of black hair falls free from his stubby ponytail. He pushes it back behind his ear. He’s–Hux grimaces– _fetching_. In an entirely irritating way.

“Because I can read minds,” Ben whispers, as if sharing a secret. It infuriates Hux. Of course he’s heard of the Resistance telepath. 

“Prove it.” It’s out of Hux’s mouth before he can stop himself. A stupid thing to say. Stupidity inspired by this stupid, bragging boy.

Ben leans in. Hux leans back, but can’t go far without trapping himself against the shuttle’s wall. He grits his teeth as Ben lays his fingers lightly on his temple. His heart pounds. How can he hide the plans for– _no, don’t–don’t think of it._

But it seems too late already, Ben’s arrogant smirk is threatening to become a full blown, punchable smile, “Rhett,” he says.

Rhett? Hux blinks in confusion.

Ben’s still smiling, “Tomas. Suleiman. Fredrik.”

“Stop it,” Hux says.

“Dean. Mikan,” Ben’s eyebrow quirks, “Nabi.”

Hux feels the heat in his cheeks. He hasn’t thought of Nabi in a very long time, “Is this what the Resistance wants? The details of my sex life?” He regrets saying it instantly, shouldn’t have reminded Ben of the– _no, no, don’t think._

Ben shrugs, “Just proving it, General, like you ordered,” then he chews his cheek and seems to sober, “The plans. To your pet weapon. That’s what the Resistance wants.”

Hux doesn’t react, face like stone.

Until Ben says, “But I think they’re wrong,” and Hux boggles at him. Ben doesn’t notice, fists clenching, “I could destroy it alone, with my powers, with the Force, without the plans or anyone else!”

“Could you really?” Hux asks, leaning forward, curious despite himself. After all, the weapon isn’t just his pet but his home, his life.

“I could if they’d let me,” Ben says, deflating, and blows a loose strand of hair from his face with a huff.

“You’re too important to risk,” Hux says, amused that this overgrown puppy of a man doesn’t get it, “I’m sure they’d rather err on the side of caution than send you into enemy territory alone with their fingers crossed.”

“But I don’t want to sit around while others die for the Resistance. I could save so many lives if they’d just _listen_ to me.”

“Yes,” Hux says, swallowing, “Me, too.”

Ben chews his cheek, eyes on Hux as turbulence rocks the shuttle. Hux looks back at him, brows drawn together.

“I saw your picture,” Ben says, “in your holofile,” he leans forward, elbows on his knees, “you’re smaller than I imagined you.” He reaches out. Hux leans back, hitting the shuttle wall behind him. But Ben only drags his thumb gently over the cut on Hux’s lip, wiping away the blood. _I’ll help you escape._ Ben doesn’t say it out loud, but Hux hears it.

“What would you want in return?” Hux asks.

“The same thing Nabi got,” Ben says, without even the decency to blush or look away.

Hux finds, against all reason, that he likes this foolish boldness. He lifts his chin, “Fine.”

“There’s just one problem though,” Ben’s smirk–unfortunately–returns in all its lopsided glory, “I can’t take your binders off.”

“I don’t want you to,” Hux says, and wipes the smile off Ben’s face.


	4. Wrong Foot

“You’re–” Hux says, then, “Fuck,” as Ben bites the thin skin of his wrist. He tries to snatch his hand away but Ben holds on tight and draws it back to his mouth.

So Hux watches helpless as Ben nips a wet line up his arm, fingers still circled around Hux’s wrist, until he reaches the sensitive skin inside of Hux’s elbow. Hux tries to pull away again–it tickles, it makes him jump and curse. He fails, again, to break free.

There’s nowhere to escape Ben in the narrow ‘fresher stall, “You’re so–” Hux says, still staring, then bites his lip and turns his head when Ben looks at him with his starving eyes.

“What?”

Hux resents both that Ben has stopped torturing him and that he’s being asked to humiliate himself further. He huffs, “He didn’t say you’d look like this.”

Ben hums and presses Hux flush against the wall with his body, “I’m sure there was no point telling you. He knew you’d do what was asked.”

“I was only asked to m-make contact with you,” Hux beats his head back against the wall, hand fisting in Ben’s hair as his neck is given the same sloppy treatment as his arm, “I’m not a _whore_ ,” Hux says, “This isn’t what I _do_. I’m trying to say–ah, you fuck!” Hux pushes Ben off when he breaks the skin below his ear, but only succeeds in getting pulled to and pressed against the other wall. He watches Ben wipe the blood from his bottom lip, and manages to say, “Supreme Leader thought we’d work well together,” before he’s attacked again.

“We do,” Ben says, voice muffled against Hux’s neck, one hand forcing its way into Hux’s pants to squeeze his ass, to fit their hips together tightly, “obviously.”

“No, that’s–” Hux interrupts himself with, of all things, Ben’s name, and Ben draws back and smiles, a lopsided thing, before wrapping one hand around his neck and kissing him.

Hux is stunned, eyes fixed on Ben’s lowered eyelashes, which are as long and dark as one could hope. Then, as if succumbing to some unknown drug, his eyes close, too, and he and Ben become, briefly, the slow slide of two tongues. It’s good, then it’s suddenly too good, in an unnameable but no less frightening way, and both break off, eyes cast down.

“I should go back,” Ben says, after a moment, “My friends–”

“Yes,” Hux says, already at work straightening out his uniform, pulling his jacket back on, thankful for the row of buttons that keep him from looking into Ben’s drowsy eyes.

“Did Sn–Supreme Leader say when?”

“When?”

“When I will be ready to join–” Ben hesitates over the next word, “him?”

“Soon,” Hux says, though he doesn’t know that, “I hope,” he adds, then shakes his head at his own stupidity.

“I bet you say that to everyone,” Ben teases, pulling Hux in by his lapels.

“For the last time I’m not a whore, I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here,” Hux tilts his head back to give Ben more room as he sucks kisses that threaten to spark another shoving match between the narrow walls, “If you do come on board we will be equals at best and at worst I’ll keep you on a very short leash.”

Hux can feel Ben smile against his skin, “We’ll do all kinds of stuff,” he says, and unlatches the door, leaving Hux alone to will the flush from his cheeks.


	5. Inappropriate Use of the Force

Hux’s sleeveless black undershirt alone survives Ren’s frantic clawing, but only barely, riding halfway up his stomach as he’s pinned back against the viewport, ass on display for the whole galaxy to see.

Their relationship is in its first tender minute, and while Hux is as giddy as the day he made general, Ren’s reaction has been to maul him, perhaps to discourage other potential mates from seeing Hux as anything other than badly damaged goods. Hux is making lots of noise, but he’s not complaining.

Then, just as Ren’s hand goes snaking up Hux’s shirt, no doubt to rip it off him ( _Rip it off me you bastard,_ Hux thinks at Ren, just in case), his fingers brush Hux’s nipple, and all the lovely too-hard grinding and lip sucking and growling nonsense promises of _I’m going to make you beg until you don’t know what you’re begging for_ suddenly stop.

“You–” Ren says, forehead pressed against Hux’s, breathing hard, “you have–your–you–”

“My nipples are pierced,” Hux says, taking pity on him, “yes.”

“Why?” Ren wheezes. His dick, where it lays flush against Hux’s ass, couldn’t be any harder.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hux says, wriggling against it impatiently, “I was young and drunk and on leave and I thought I was in love with someone. Why not?”

“And you still have them,” Ren pulls Hux’s shirt up further, exposing the silver rings, and stares.

“There they are,” Hux says, shifting where he’s pinned to see if he can’t reach Ren’s dick himself. He can’t–because Ren catches him at it, and traps that arm above Hux’s head while he looks his fill.

“I thought it was a rumor,” Ren says, in a daze.

“And I thought we were going to fuck,” Hux says, twisting his free hand in Ren’s hair to bring his gaze up. It works. Ren’s eyes narrow, and he crushes close again, all plush lips and sharp teeth.

“We are,” Ren says, pulling away even as Hux chases after him, teeth snapping at air, “We will. But–”

Hux huffs and bangs his head back against the viewport.

“I want to see something first,” Ren says, pinching the ring between his forefinger and thumb, “I just learned it.”

Which is all the warning Hux gets before the world turns an electric kind of blue and he’s zapped, unsuspecting and with a frightful yelp, into an orgasm he’ll never forget.


	6. Impossible

The meeting with Snoke runs late but even when it’s over Ren doesn’t stop arguing—following Hux all the way back to his quarters and then inviting himself inside, still talking.

“Ren—”

Still talking. Taking a seat on the bed, one hand outreached to Millicent’s cautious sniffing. 

“Ren,” Hux says, shedding his greatcoat. Ren doesn’t stop talking, so Hux talks right over him, loud, “Do you want a drink?”

Ren freezes in place, as if he’s just realized where he is. Millicent knocks her head against his fingers, with meowing impatience. “No,” he says, standing up suddenly, spooking the cat, ”No, I should—” he trails off. Hux has peeled off his jacket. It’s been a long day, he aches, he doesn’t care about Ren’s unfathomable objections to the mission. He strips down to his undershirt, then pulls that off, too. That’ll be Ren’s cue to leave.

So, of course, Ren doesn’t leave. “You can’t go to Corb alone,” he says, which is what he has been saying for the past hour, but this time the statement is followed by the hiss of his helmet’s release, “General,” Ren’s voice always sounds naked and raw without the modulator. It draws Hux’s attention up from where he’s poured himself a generous portion of chartreuse. Ren’s eyes are stuck on his collarbones when he says, “You need me to protect you.”

“I’ll have a squad with me,” Hux says.

“It’s not the same,” Ren finally meets his eyes, all dark curls and fanatic stare. He chews his lip. Hux pretends not to notice. Ren’s mouth is problematic, “Take one of my knights.”

“What—you in disguise?” Hux drains his glass to hide his smirk as Ren glares at him, plan foiled, “When did you get so protective?”

Ren’s gaze drops like a scolded pet, but instead of reaching the floor it catches near Hux’s navel, Ren biting those horrid lips again, and Hux has had enough.

“I don’t need you on this mission, and that’s final. It should have been final an hour ago, in the holochamber, but here we are,” he says, flapping a hand dismissively, “I could use you elsewhere, though.”

“Where?” Ren asks quickly, as if he is in the habit of being useful. 

“You could have drinks with me,” Hux shrugs, “like a real person. You could help me take off my boots,” he says, then regrets it, feeling himself flush with embarrassment. He turns back toward the sidetable for the chartreuse, but before he can pull the cap off Ren presses him tight against the table from behind, the fabric of his robes coarse against his bare skin, wide belt biting into his lower back. Ren catches Hux’s wrists in each hand, first guiding the bottle down to the table, where Hux lets it go with stunned obedience. Then he pins them to the table’s surface leaving no room to wriggle free, draping himself over Hux like a cloak.

“I know what you really want,” Ren says, softly, near his ear, “but it’s impossible.”

“It doesn’t feel impossible,” Hux says, too busy feeling smug with Ren’s hardness rubbing against him to be surprised by the swiftness of Ren’s attack.

“It _is_ impossible,” Ren says, “You wouldn’t be the man you are if we–” Hux opens his mouth to interrupt but feels his breath stolen, like a hand around his neck, just tight enough, “Sssh,” Ren says.

The sound Hux makes in response draws a low laugh from Ren, who seems to forget for a moment how impossible it is, dragging his bottom lip up the side of Hux’s neck to let a shaky breath out near his ear. 

Then the pressure is gone and Ren is storming toward the door.

Hux breathes out, watching him go, holding on to the table in case he falls over. “Don’t forget your helmet,” Hux calls when he hears the door panel activate.

The door swishes closed and Ren tromps back into the room to retrieve his helmet from the bed. He stands still for a moment, head down, helmet in his hand as if awaiting orders, finally willing to listen, but Hux says nothing, too overwhelmed, still goosebumped from the cold he hadn’t felt until he’d felt Ren’s heat and lost it.

Whatever Ren is waiting for, it passes. “I should—” he says, then flees the room.

Hux shakes it off. Pours that second drink. He can’t help but smile at Ren’s cowardice. Such a paradox of a man–strong and weak and smart and dumb and clumsy and graceful and ugly and beautiful. Then Hux’s smile fades, and he’s left holding his empty glass, frowning at an empty bed. 


	7. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of cannibalism

“Tell me again.”

“Again—” a puff of breath, “of course, you greedy—”

“Please, Hux.”

“We—” cut off with a gasp as one finger pressed inside, “We were—” squirming on two fingers until a big hand closed over a hip, stilling the movement, “We crashed. We were stranded.”

“Yes.”

“Stranded. Help—” three fingers, “H-helpless.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Together.”

“He collapsed, just in sight of the village. The heat—”

“He was your lover.”

“They found us there.”

“He was yours, before me. He fucked you.”

One eye opened to look questioningly over a shoulder, then squeezed shut again as the fingers worked faster, deeper, “Ah—They found us. The villagers. They b-brought us in. Spoke a language I’d never— _Ren_ , but I’d never, I’d _never_ —”

“ _Shhh_ , yes, _shhh_.”

“There was a droid. Who explained.”

“What did the droid explain?” then, “Hux,” when no answer came, then “Hux,” again, until—

“More,” quietly, and the mattress shifted, “No. Not that. More—”

“That’s three.”

“Four then. All of it, everything, please.”

“Hux—”

“Please.”

“ _Shhh_. Alright, yes. What did the droid say?”

“To—they’d brought him to a kind of platform and—a dais or—ah—a dais and said. They said for me to, they gave me a sharp rock. The droid said for me to—”

“For you to—” urging him on with another long obliging crooked finger, four now sliding in and out and everything glistening wet.

“To.”

Lips lowered down to a red ear, to hiss, “Sacrifice?”

“Ah!”

“And—”

“Ren—”

“Then—”

“ _Ren—_ ” hiding his face in the pillow, hot tears coming down.

“What then?” hungrily, in a rush, “Tell me what you did then.”

“To survive—they—my hair, they thought I was—they were filthy and starved and ignorant, they were animals and they were my only hope for—they wanted me to prove I—they wanted meat, a sacrifice, they thought I brought him for—as a sign of my— _Ren, yes—_ ”

“ _Shhh_ ,” with a smile in his voice, “Don’t stop. I like this story.”

“I know you like this story, you—”

“ _Shhh_.”

“If you shush me one more time, I swear.”

“No position to argue,” slow slow slow big fist in, big fist slow slow slow out, “don’t stop.”

“ _You_ don’t stop. Driving me—”

“Hux,” and a nip at his ear.

“I killed him. With the stone. While he laid there. Rasping. Looking up at me.”

“Then what—”

“Then, _that_ — _yes_ —then the droid said, the old woman said and the droid explained, to eat—to eat—mmm—to eat his,” a wild sound from deep in his chest, stifled, “heart. A piece of his heart. I was to eat first, and then—“

“And you ate it.”

“I ate it.”

No sound then but for sobs and pleasure and heavy breaths, then, “Over,” then, “No. Keep it inside you and over.” A gasp and a slow slow slow turn from belly onto back, long pale legs brought up one after the other over shoulders, one foot snatched suddenly and kissed, big toe bitten.

“Foul,” breathlessly.

A laugh, “Tell me the rest. Tell me how the Order found you.”

“I—” back arching up, as the hand released the foot to trail down ankle-calf-knee-thigh-to dance fingers across a hipbone and close around the hard cock, drawing a ragged, “Please.” Then a low, long whine and for a moment, everything was still.

“So sweet,” and the air around the words pulled back as if wary, pale wet eyes blinking up in confusion, dark head shaking as if to clear thoughts, then an uncomfortable swallow. Hand sliding free, careful, “Tell me the rest now.”

Legs untangled from shoulders and a hand came to pull him down on the bed, the same hand drifting low to twist and coax and tease the red forgotten cock. “They made me king, their—their supreme leader,” the words pronounced with a wry twist of lips, and received a frightful canine smile in answer, before the big mouth opened again in a moan, “They dressed me in white. They painted my cheeks with his blood. The Order found me after a month.”

“They wouldn’t let your feet touch the ground.”

A surprised laugh, “I’d forgotten.”

“You’d conquered the surrounding tribes.”

“We made progress, yes. There was potential.”

“They called you the Bloody Boy.”

“Yes, well my hair—”

“Yes,” and a hand snaked through and tugged, “Your hair,” tugged head down to lips and then, kissing slow, came with teeth sunk into lips, come on knuckles and slick fingers. They laid back in the pillows, silent. Chests rose and fell.

“My father was proud,” and the other, whose lips were pressed against red hair, frowned for a moment, “It’s why I’m a general today, though I’m young, my—my performance then.”

“Because you ate your lover’s heart.”

“Well,” a slender hand lifted and dropped, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’d like to do that one day.”

“You already have,” murmured thoughtlessly, then abruptly the sharp face hid in the pillows, as if to hide the truth, so that only frightened wide green eyes blinked back at the stunned face beside him.  


	8. Awful Nice

“This’s nice,” words slurring, as if there were a sated, sleepy snake coiled in his arms.

“Nice?”

“It means pleasant, Ren, good. I like it.”

“You like it?”

“Ren—”

“The general _likes_ it.”

“Ren, please.”

“The general likes _it_.”

“Ah! A bit tender, though.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I—” breaking off with a smirk, “Sorry? Kylo Ren is sorry?”

“Silence.”

“I love it when you try to do your mask voice. It’s bizarre.”

“Love?”

“You’re so bizarre with your stupid helmet.”

“Love, though?”

“Don’t.”

“Love. That’s what you said.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“You’re in _my_ room.”

“I’ll leave then,” a half-effort to sit up, blankets falling, air cold away from Ren’s body. Then, immediately, pulled back down.

“Stay.”

“Why should I?”

“I want to hear you call me daddy again.”

Face hidden in the pillows, long enough to muffle a groan.

“I want to—what’d you call it? I want to lick the honey out.”

“Kriff.”

“While you say ‘Daddy, daddy, please.’”

“I never say please.”

“Yes, you do. In your silly accent— _please_. ‘Daddy, _please_.’”

“I’m mortified.”

“ _I’m mortified_.”

“You’re butchering it.”

“You say it then.”

“Mortified.”

“Not that.”

“Ren—”

“Say it.”

“Please,” eyes dropping away, then coming back, shy, “Please, daddy.”

“I want to fuck you again. Let me fuck you.”

“Too tender.”

“I’ll be good,” thumb tracing bottom lip, “I’ll be good to you.”

“No, you won’t. You couldn’t possibly be—”

“No. But I’ll try for a while.”


	9. Exes

“Come in,” Hux says, and Ren comes in, billowing, stomping, and red.

Hux rolls his eye preemptively, turning his attention back to the datapad.

Ren stands directly over Hux in his chair and declares, loudly, “Everything is awful.”

“Mmhm,” Hux says, working on his laser, “Sit down.”

“Everything,” Ren says, sitting down heavily on the desk and doing his best to loom from there.

“That’s right,” Hux says, tapping the screen.

Ren sighs.

“Mmhm,” Hux says.

Ren kicks Hux’s chair.

“What?” Hux snaps, setting the datapad down, “Everything is awful, yes, and?”

Ren huffs.

“Ren,” Hux says gently, changing tactics, and takes one of Ren’s hands in his own, prying it open from its natural clenched fist-state to trace the the creases on his gloves as if they were fortune lines on his palm, looking up to find Ren watching, bottom lip atremble, “What’s wrong?”

“We have to break up,” Ren blurts.

Hux’s fingers still, and his gaze drops to the floor for a moment before he swallows and continues to trace the glove’s creases, “I see. It’s just that, I mean, you are of course aware that we’re not dating.”

Ren turns redder, “Yes we are!” Wobbling chin up, “I mean, we were.”

“Oh, Ren,” Hux says, smirking, “Is this your entirely backwards way of asking me out? Because the answer is no.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Ren cocks his head to the side, “Not asking you out.”

“Uh-huh,” Hux waves a hand with regal disinterest, brushing this obvious lie aside, “I knew this would happen. We’ve had fun not being together wouldn’t you agree? Why spoil it? The forms alone would murder the mood for me–birthdays, middle names–”

“Chewbacca,” Ren says, quiet.

“See? That’s exactly the kind of chilling insight that I’m trying to avoid here,” Hux says, “Better we–”

“No,” Ren says, “No. You think we’re not together? We’re always together, Hux, we’re having fun,” whispering the word with a flinch and a shiver and a scared look to the side as if expecting to be smacked across the nose.

“And what?” Hux asks, leaning forward, “you want to have more?”

“No, I don’t,” Ren says.

“Because you like it so much?”

“Well,” Ren says, fidgeting with a tattered corner of his robes, “Yes, but–”

Hux’s laughter interrupts him.

“Yes,” Ren says, louder, “but that’s the problem. It’s all I think about.”

“Yes, well,” Hux stands, trailing his hand up Ren’s thigh as he leans between his legs, “It’s all I think about, too,” he says, and kisses him.

Ren, unsurprisingly, kisses back–lips, teeth, and tongue. Then pulls away. Then blinks. Then seems to remember why he’d come over, “Hux, we–”

Hux heaves a long suffering sigh and kisses him again, then takes two handfuls of hair to drag him up off of the desk, “If we’re going to do this you’ve got to stop talking,” he says against Ren’s lips, arms draped over his shoulders.

“This is a bad idea,” Ren says, unfastening Hux’s jacket with well-practiced ease.

Hux hums happily, eye falling closed when Ren starts on his shirt, lapping in his wonderfully sloppy Ren way at Hux’s jaw. He pushes the shirt away in a rush and wraps his hand around Hux’s dogtags. Then he pulls, bringing Hux’s forehead against his own, “Tell me it’s a bad idea,” Ren says, big, brown eyes imploring.

“It’s a bad idea,” Hux says, “It’s the worst idea,” making it sound like a fantastic idea, really.

“Tell me it won’t work out.”

Hux shakes his head.

Ren yanks the tags.

Hux glares, “It won’t work out,” he says, reaching down to run his hand over Ren’s dick, necklace digging red into his pale skin as Ren tightens the slack, “I hate you,” Hux says, “You’re a waste of resources and you’re childish and you embarrass constantly and you–”

“That’s enough,” Ren says, letting Hux go and leaning back to escape Hux’s vengeful nip forward, pushing him back down into his desk chair with a thought, “Maybe if you didn’t treat me so badly you’d still have a boyfriend. Have you considered that?” 

Hux doesn’t answer, making a show of settling himself in his chair as if he meant to sit down. He can’t decide between glaring up into Ren’s eyes or watching him untangle the ineffable layers of his robes. Finally everything is pulled aside to reveal Ren’s dick, red and hard right in front of Hux’s face. “You’re not my boyfriend,” Hux says, for the record, before leaning in to lick.

“Not anymore I’m not,” Ren says, then sinks his hand into Hux’s hair and closes his eyes, smiling.


	10. The Foxes and the Hound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dubcon & drugs, techie/matt, hux/ren/techie

Techie would know Matt anywhere, has connected his moles with kisses, sucked his bottom lip and heard him moan, felt his biceps flex beneath his fingers when they fucked. He’s spent half a shift on his knees, drawing his tongue up the underside of Matt’s big cock, Matt hissing _yes_ and _get it wet_ with his hands bunched in Techie’s long, tangled hair, “My little fox,” Matt would say, and Techie would moan with the praise.

Soon after his half-brother had saved him and brought him to live on his ship, Techie had found someone special in Matt. He’d turned greedy for worship and for gentle touches and for all the comforts he’d never known before, spoiled by Matt’s attention. He thought often, with pleasure, of the first time they met–Matt’s surprised, “Oh,” and his hungry stare that made Techie squirm as if he were being looked at from the inside out.

One day, very late in one cycle or else very early in the next, his brother summoned him to his quarters, urgently. Though they rarely crossed paths, Techie was grateful to him beyond expression–he knew he was alive only through Hux’s generosity. His actions made up for his cold manner, which Techie knew was only a result of his upbringing. _The Commandant_ , his mother used to say, then she would spit on the floor.

Still, it was a shock when the door slid open.

“Get in, “ Hux said, and inside the room his blown-black eyes slid up and down Techie while he chewed on his thumbnail. Techie looked at Hux, too, mostly because he couldn’t help it. He was as whiplike as ever, in a silky robe falling off one shoulder and, under that, nothing, except for a silver chain that draped between his nipples. His lips were plump and dark, his short hair raked through, and the kohl around his eyes was smeared up onto the bridge of his nose. He pressed his hot forehead against Techie’s and his breath smelled so strongly of Spice that Techie felt the heat rise to his cheeks and his vision went liquid around the edges.

“You’ll be okay with this,” Hux asked, “Right?”

Techie didn’t understand the question, but he nodded yes.

Hux took his hand and led him through his suite to his bedroom, where the lights were pitched low. He dropped Techie’s hand to cross the room, a bit unsteady on his feet as he carelessly slipped off his robe. As Hux climbed sultry onto the bed, Techie saw how his skinny thighs were sucked red and glistening wet, and mottled with the purple-green of old bruises, too.

“Does he even know how to fuck?”

The bed was pushed against the wide viewport and the man who asked that rude question was lounging with his back against it, so that the galaxy itself was his headboard. Techie knew it must be Kylo Ren, the Emperor’s Hound, though he had never laid eyes on him before, and he shivered.

“He looks like a drowned rat,” Kylo Ren said.

Hux perched beside him and cuffed his cheek, “Be nice.”

The Hound snapped his teeth as if to bite, then cupped his hand on Hux’s ass and pulled him nearly onto his lap as easily as if he were a doll. He looked bored and very beautiful–like a prince–and familiar, too.

“Techie,” Hux cooed, as if calling for Millicent, “Come here.”

“His clothes look dirty,” Kylo Ren said.

“You’re one to talk,” Hux said, “and don’t be a brat. I’m giving you just what you wanted,” then he gasped when Kylo Ren tugged on the silver chain between his nipples.

“You always do,” the Hound purred. The fingers of his other hand, Techie noticed (then winced and looked down at his shoes) pushed into Hux’s ass, and Techie heard Hux hum and say some low thing and Kylo Ren murmur back as Techie thought that, yes, his shoes did look dirty against the shining floor.

“Get undressed,” Kylo Ren snapped, “Now, or I’ll do it for you.”

Techie’s hands jerked into action on their own, but he was grateful, worried that he might start trembling if he tried to stand still. He’d heard stories from Matt about Kylo Ren’s powers. He pulled off his shirt, terrified, but half-hard, too, from the heavy scent in the room, his brother’s strangled noises.

“Come closer,” Kylo Ren said, like the wolf from the stories Techie’s mother used to tell him, before he was ripped from her side. But Hux hadn’t been raised by their mother, Techie thought, sadly, and was caught in the wolf’s claws. “Closer,” Kylo Ren said.

Techie approached the bed as if arriving to his own execution, taking the step up onto its platform with a deep breath. He kept his eyes lowered, wary of Kylo Ren’s sorcery, and fumbled nervously with his pants, wishing desperately for Matt–who was always there for him–to be here now.

“Don’t be nervous, little fox,” Kylo Ren said, in a voice that Techie would know anywhere, and when Techie’s eyes snapped up to meet his, he knew then that he’d been caught in the wolf’s claws, too.


	11. Bonfire

Ren wakes up with his nose buried in hair that smells like smoke and looks like fire. “You’re still here,” he murmurs against the smooth, pale skin of the man’s neck, hot beneath his lips as if he fell asleep kissing it.

A sleepy moan.

Ren trails his fingers down the long, ghost-white back to where the sheet winds around slim hips. The stranger shifts. Then shifts again, sinuous, rutting back against Ren’s cock. Ren’s chafed red and raw but hard all the same from waking up tangled with someone so sweet-smelling and warm.

Ren grabs his slim hip to still him with a groan. “Bad,” he scolds, then trails his hand up to brush the pad of his thumb back and forth across his peaked nipple, kissing and nosing up his nape to smell his tangled hair again.

“Torture,” the man complains, arching his back for more.

He’d appeared, the night before, out of the fire itself–like a witch stepping casually down from the pyre. Then again, it was late and Ren was drunk and bleary and exhausted, having built the bonfire by himself on some strange, itching impulse. What he saw could’ve been a trick of the light.

Yet he’d come straight to Ren as if called, wherever he came from, and stood over him backlit and smirking. They hadn’t spoken much as Ren led him home.

“I’m gonna fuck you in the shower,” Ren murmurs now, against his bright hair.

“No,” he whines, arching his neck to be bitten.

“No?” Ren bites him, closes his eyes at the gasp and squirm, “Don’t you want to get clean and soapy and wet–”

“No!” half-sitting up in bed, panicked green eyes wide. Then, quickly, as if embarrassed, relaxing back down to curl, hot, at Ren’s side, blinking up at him. “I want to be dirty,” humping his hard cock against Ren’s thigh.

“Haven’t had enough?”

“No, never enough.” Lazily, he climbs onto Ren’s lap, draping the thick blanket over his shoulders like a cloak. He’s slender all over and bruised purple from the night before. He looks as if he wants to be stern but can’t quite keep himself from smiling, “What’s your name?”

“B–” Ren catches himself, “Ren.”

“Ren?” a surprised laugh. He bends all the way down to press his hot cheek to Ren’s chest and laughs and laughs until he chokes and coughs.

“What’s funny?”

“I knew a Ren,” the words are muffled against Ren’s skin.

“You knew a _Ren_?” The name was brand new to him, assigned by his teacher under a full moon.

Sitting up to smirk, “He thought he was special, too.”

Ren doesn’t like this other Ren, so he topples the man to the mattress to interrupt his fond memories. “And what’s your name?” He asks, nose-to-nose.

“If you’re Ren,” he says, reaching touch the mole above Ren’s mouth, expression sobering, “I’m Hux.”

“You’re strange,” Ren says, high praise.

“Yes,” Hux says, “Kiss me.”

Ren kisses him, closing his eyes when they start to sting from the heat between them, the sharpness of Hux’s canines nipping at his bottom lip, the visions of snow, black boots, red blood. Hux presses up against him, so Ren wraps an arm beneath the twisting small of his back, trapping their bodies together tighter. He kisses the tip of his chin, the soft space between his collarbones, his pretty shoulder, his bicep, the crook of his elbow, then stops, pulling away.

“What’s that?” he asks, feeling faint. He’s seen such marks in a rare, coverless book, his favorite book, a dangerous book he keeps wrapped up in a drawer. Hux hides what he can with the sheet but Ren knows in his soul the five scars on Hux’s forearm, marching toward his wrist in a neat line as if someone had put out the red tips of five cigars on his fine skin, one by one.

“Nothing,” Hux says, then shakes his head, “Something I did a long time ago.”

“They look new.”

“No, Ren,” Hux says, quiet, a warning, and Ren’s skin crawls, suddenly goosebumped, “It was a long time ago–I’m just not meant to forget.”

“Okay,” Ren says. “Fine,” though it’s not, and he wonders if Hux is an escapee, drawn to Ren’s fire from some much colder, darker place. “Are you in trouble?” he asks.

“Yes,” Hux says, then fixes Ren with a pout, white lies brimming in his green eyes, “But you’ll let me stay, won’t you? You were always,” he draws a finger down Ren’s chest, tracing the line of an obscure tattoo, “ _always_ good to me.”

“I’ll let you stay,” it’s out of Ren’s lip at once, though his heart is pounding with some unknown fear.

Hux heaves a great, shuddering sigh, and nods, eyes brimming this time with something more real.

“You must have a fever,” Ren says, to say something–caught between belief and denial. He sits up, his eyes skipping around the room for a dizzy moment, searching for something to help–herb bundles, crystals, books, candles, sword, cup, coin, and wand, and settle on the table where he’d cast his last spread the day before, just before the itch to build a fire began. Two cards had fallen to the floor last night, when Ren had fucked Hux over the wobbling desk, the world red behind his eyes as if looking right into the sun. In the weak morning light the room is dim but he knows the shape of the Devil and seven of swords. He swallows. He’d wanted this very much.

He leans down to kiss Hux’s hair, draping his own body over Hux’s, and feels for certain that he would destroy himself to protect his prize. “You’re burning up,” he says.

“Yes,” Hux says, tucking his face against Ren’s chest, “Always.”


	12. Come Away from the Core

“Are you alright?”

“Why ask? Why not take it from my mind?” Hux doesn’t look up at him, eyes fixed forward.

“So, no?”

“No, Ren. You may not remember this but it’s all blown up,” his lips twist, “Everything.”

Ren lowers himself down to sit beside Hux with effort, his bacta-healed skin stretching unpleasantly, and lets his legs hang over the catwalk, too. For a moment he listens to the humming of the core as it casts its glow over the room, pulsing like a heart red to black, red to black.

He’s not sure exactly what to say, looking at his hands in his lap. He clears his throat–anything will do for a start, he figures, “They said I’d find you here. That you spend all your time here,” he says. Hux doesn’t turn his head, jaw tight. “It’s dangerous, you know, sitting so close like this for too long.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be alive long enough to suffer the consequences. And anyway,” drawing his knees up to hug them tight, “It’s warm. I’ve been cold for so fucking long.”

Ren stares. Hux lets him, eyes low. His hair is loose and soft, and he’s wearing almost nothing–little shorts and a tank, bare feet curled over the catwalk’s edge, shower sandals abandoned on his other side. He looks defeated and ridiculous and also very beautiful, like he did in Ren’s heavy bacta tank dreams. Beautiful, so that when he at last acknowledges Ren’s stare with an impatient what–his voice cracking on the word as he finally meets Ren’s eyes–Ren blurts, “I’ll protect you.”

“What?” Hux asks again, finding his voice this time.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Ren says, and he knows his eyes are saying even more than that but he can’t help himself.

“Ren, that’s insane.”

“No,” Ren says, “It’s what I want.”

“What you want won’t matter to Snoke.”

“That doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”

Hux’s mouth opens, then he looks away quickly. The pulsing light catches the tears in his eyes.

“Come away from the core,” Ren says, softly, “You’ll get a sunburn.”

Hux laughs, “That’s just cruel.” Then he sniffles, hiding his face in his knees.

“Hey,” Ren says, but Hux doesn’t answer, shoulders shaking. “Hux,” he says, scooting closer to wrap his arms around him–unsure at first if it’s the right thing to do until Hux turns toward him to bury his face against Ren’s neck. The sudden warmth of him only hardens Ren’s resolve. He’ll carry Hux out of here if he has to, and they’ll find a new galaxy entirely their own. Otherwise–

“If I stay,” Hux says, finishing Ren’s thought, “I’ll have to fight. Or else he’ll–”

“We’ll fight together,” Ren says.

Hux nods, lifting his face and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Ren brushes a tear from his cheek with his finger, catches another with a swipe of his thumb. “He doesn’t deserve your tears,” Ren says, and tries to keep from shaking, because it may be true that Snoke is powerful, but all Ren feels is rage–he sees now just how he has been coddled and deceived. Inside the tank the Force had whispered sweetly to him, outside the tank it beats like a war drum. “You’re better than him,” Ren says, “Say it.”

Perhaps Ren spits this command a little too fiercely, but then again perhaps not. Hux’s eyes seem suddenly sharper. “I’m better,” he says.

Ren softens, proud, “Do you feel better?”

Hux nods, bottom lip wobbling, “Better.”

“Good,” Ren says, “That’s a start.” He starts the painful process of rising up from the catwalk, only to find himself pulled back down into Hux’s arms.

Hux rubs his nose against Ren’s. “I’m better than you, too,” he says, smiling against Ren’s lips. It’s his thank you, and something wound tight inside Ren’s heart unspools.


	13. Death Sticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> benarmie, drugs, blowjobs

“They’re looking for me,” Ben says, and Hux has to blink back the geometric mist of the death stick they’d split hours earlier before the meaning of his words registers. “My friends,” Ben says. “I should go.”

“Oh,” Hux says, and his voice echoes oh-oh-oh inside his own head. He shakes it. That seems to help beat back the florescent colors dripping into Hux’s vision from all sides. “If you have to,” to-to-to, he says, and sits up with difficulty. Then the world wobbles and he falls back down onto Ben’s chest, head bouncing as Ben laughs at him.

“Maybe I should stay,” Ben says, fingers carding through Hux’s mussed hair.

“Stay,” Hux echoes, then says, “stay, stay,” to mimic the echo in his own head, then laughs at himself. He hides his face against Ben’s warm skin, breathing.

“Aw,” Ben says, “Little Armie can’t even handle half a death stick.”

“I did,” did-did. “I am,” am-am.

“You’re cute like this,” Ben says, “Messy.”

Hux lifts his face from Ben’s chest to glare.

“There’s Hux,” Ben says, with a lopsided grin.

“How do you do this, Ben?” Hux asks, returning his head to Ben’s chest where it rises and falls and rises and falls, his heartbeat deep and slow and secret. “How can you sneak away from them? And how can you be with me? And use or, um–” Hux forgets the right word, “do death sticks?” Ben laughs at him again but Hux doesn’t care. He feels both used and done, blinking back a gold and shimmering lattice that’s building itself in front of his eyes. “Won’t you be caught?”

“No,” Ben says, fiercely, a hidden history in the word. So much about Ben hidden, while Hux has nothing to hide–his uniform is all that he is: cadet. Then Ben’s voice softens, “But I still should go.”

Hux hums and hides his face again. No, he thinks, don’t.

“I have to,” Ben says, plucking this thought, Hux assumes, from between the golden latticework behind his eyes. Ben’s fingers trace the rim of his ear, and Hux’s eyes flutter. The lattice shivers. In the past two hours the death stick has made him feel from one second to the next hot and cold, flushed and goosebumped, full, sleepy, frightened, elated, hyperaware, and occasionally, bizarrely, as if he has to pee, but through it all Ben’s touch has been indisputably Good. Proof at least that Hux is not alone in this, and all the more reason Ben cannot, must not leave until Hux’s last dripping stained glass vision fades. “Unless–” Ben says, completing another circle of Hux’s ear and sinking his fingers into his hair.

“Unless?” Hux smirks, catching on quickly, and follows the pressure of Ben’s big hand down down down, kissing bare skin all the way. Sex is strange, Hux thinks, such a strange thing for people to agree on. And yet the velvety warm skin of the head of Ben’s cock is an exquisite thing to taste. Hux would rather be here than back at the Academy, and Ben would rather be with him than with the other padawans. Together they create something new, something outside and above their lives apart. Then Ben moans his name, and Hux’s thoughts burst like bubbles.

Under the shed’s door pass the shadows and lights of the festival outside, and the drums and snap of fireworks and delighted shouts and shrieks seem to grow louder as the yellow light of the day quickly fades to violet. But Hux can’t be sure, because whether his eyes are open or closed he sees the same bursts of color. He sucks Ben off until his face is wet with his own spit and his lips sting. “You’re not coming,” he notices with a pout, laying his head on Ben’s thigh.

“I’m here,” Ben says.

“No, I meant you’re not–”

“Oh. No,” Ben says, pushing Hux off him and down onto the grain sacks in his place. He fits easily within the Ben-shaped outline pressed into the rice. “It’s your turn, now.”

“But I haven’t–” Hux says, because he hasn’t, not ever, had this happen to him. At the Academy he’s known for–he shakes his head. Not the Academy right now. But no one’s ever–then Ben is doing it, and that’s not true anymore. Heat blooms from Hux’s cock all the way up to the crown of his head, the tip of his toes, and he chokes out, “Ben!” And that’s the name of this, of all of it–high in a shed with a padawan’s braid tickling his hipbone as his cock his swallowed up in a warm, soft, tight throat. Same as the first time they laid eyes on each other drunk in a cantina ‘fresher, Ben boldly backing Hux against the sink with only a wink and an unsettling whisper of, “I can read your mind.”

“Ben!” Hux cries again, and arches his back up to meet Ben’s lips, to push himself deeper down that hot throat. Ben’s hands slide under him to grasp his ass and squeeze. Between the latticework the colors bloom, and when Hux comes he can feel the exchange–that Ben has given something to him as well as taken. That Hux has taken and given tonight. That their strange thing has grown stronger. Hux covers his burning face with his hands and this time the word is muffled and skewed. He says, “Ren.”

“Ren?” Ben says, laying his head on Hux’s chest to catch his breath, vision swirling. He licks the come from his lips, ignoring the tug of his friends’ distant worry at the edge of his mind. “Ren,” he says again, letting his lips drag across Hux’s pebbled nipple. Ren-Ren-Ren, comes the death stick echo in his mind, red like blood in a river behind his eyes.


	14. Mud

Ren approaches, silently, from behind. When Hux turns in his desk chair, he sees how the new Supreme Leader, fresh from his latest defeat, has his hand held out in front of him, as if Hux is a wild thing that might startle or bite.

He might. He wants to. Defeat weighs heavy on his shoulders but he keeps his back straight. “What do you want, Supreme Leader?”

Ren doesn’t flinch at the sarcasm. Of course not. Hux worries, though, that he didn’t even hear the door when he entered. He just became aware, suddenly, of this dark intrusion on his already dark day. Is this Ren’s new power? More likely his own exhaustion.

“Hold still,” Ren says.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Don’t move,” Ren says, ignoring him, stepping closer, until one gloved hand slips around his neck, and then the other. The hair on Hux’s arms raises in something like fright. Or something Hux wishes were fright. Things would be less complicated, then.

“You could just kill me with your mind, you know. You don’t need to put your filthy gloves on me.”

Ren laughs and squeezes–enough to make Hux squirm–then he releases him, hands slipping lower, down to his shoulders. He squeezes him again. He starts to rub at the taut line Hux keeps between himself and the world.

“Ren–” Hux is horrified.

But Ren says, “Shhh.” He rubs his thumbs at the base of Hux’s neck in slow circles. He uses his fingertips against Hux, making his eyes sting. This isn’t fair. “They say a nexu is so proud of his bright white coat that–” Ren stops. His hands stop. Don’t stop, Hux wants to say. “Do you know what nexu is?” Ren asks.

“Yes, Ren, I–”

“Good,” Ren’s hands start up again. Hux’s eyes drift closed. “They say if a nexu has a hunter in front of him and muddy water behind him he’ll stand and die rather than get his fur dirty. Very proud creatures. That story–it reminds me of you.”

“And yet here you are, with your dirty gloves on me.”

Ren laughs again. His hands pull away, and his fingers return–bare and calloused and warm on Hux’s neck.

“I hurt you today.”

“Spare me.”

“I failed you. As Supreme Leader. I failed the First Order.”

“What First Order? Everything’s destroyed.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“At this rate we’ll be fighting them with sticks and stones.”

“I have a big stick,” Ren says.

“Don’t make jokes, Ren,” Hux says. “I’ll call for the guards.”

“Stand up,” he orders. Hux obeys, with a hiss of pain. It’s nothing. A least he’s alive, for the moment.

Ren presses against him, his chest to Hux’s back, his face tucked in his shoulder as his fingers work the fastening of his trousers, dragging them down. Ren goes down with them, onto his knees. He traces the edge of Hux’s panties where they dig into his skin, making Hux shiver. Then, he buries his face there, cold nose pushing between Hux’s cheeks so that he gasps. Ren doesn’t lick or kiss or bite, just rubs his face against the delicate lace with a satisfied hum, his big hands covering Hux’s ass entirely.

Hux has to brace himself against the desk to keep from tipping over. Then the kisses start. Big, wet, messy kisses all over his cheeks. Then, worse, Ren hooks a finger under the panties to pull them to the side, and the kisses become more.

“Ren–”

It’s all in a rush that Ren loses himself to this. He moans, lapping between Hux’s cheeks, teasing his rim, pushing against it, then pushing inside. All in a rush. Ren is just a poor, mindless beast after all, with one idea in his head at a time.

“Ren, please–”

Hux’s legs tremble. Ren growls, tongue dancing deeper insider him, wagging up and down, side to side. Hux can feel his spit slipping down his thighs. He tries not to whine with pleasure, but he can’t stop himself any more than he can stop Ren. He lifts his ass for it.

Then one of Ren’s large paws finds Hux’s cock–trapped hard and pink behind black lace–pulling it free to tug–a little too hard, so that it almost hurts. Perfect, so that it almost hurts, and Hux’s walls tighten around Ren’s big tongue, and he comes with a cry, crumpled over his desk.

Ren remains on his knees, quiet, as Hux pulls himself together. When he turns, Ren is still there, looking up at him with those sad, lost, little boy’s eyes. “I’ll make you Grand Marshal,” Ren says. “If you want it.”

“I do.” It’s not lost on Hux how, once again, he’s been promoted before the come dries. He pushes his hair back into place. He feels liquid, his shoulders loose. He could sleep, he thinks. What a novel idea. “Is this an apology?” he asks. It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He shouldn’t tease Ren so much, not anymore.

But Ren says, “No.” He gets to his feet. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Very well.” Hux clears his throat. It’s awkward. He wants Ren to leave, but Ren stands there chewing his lip. Then, with a lurch, he leans closer to kiss Hux on the cheek, gently.

“I promise you won’t get your coat dirty,” he says, still hovering close enough to kiss. He leaves him, then. And Hux is left with a warm feeling that fades to a chill when he recalls that the other option is death.


End file.
